


Dark Thoughts

by WolfAndHound_Archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marauders' Era, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 05:40:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5900416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfAndHound_Archivist/pseuds/WolfAndHound_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus in second year</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Lassenia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Wolf and Hound](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Wolf_and_Hound), which was created to make stories posted to the Sirius_Black_and_Remus_Lupin Yahoo! mailing list easier to find. However, even though I still love the fandom, I am no longer active in it and do not have the time to maintain it. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2015. I posted an announcement with Open Doors, but we may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Wolf and Hound collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wolfandhound/profile).

He gets the most respect from the Slytherins. It's surprising and more than a little unnerving, but true nonetheless. They can sense things, darker things, better than other Houses can. Sometimes the Hufflepuffs become jittery in his presence when the moon waxes full; and often the Ravenclaws will give him a calculating look, as if trying to pierce the lies to the raw facts beneath. But his fellow Gryffindors? Not a dark thought passes their minds to call out to the darkness in his. That is how he would prefer it, mostly; to keep up the front of shy, mild-mannered Remus Lupin. That's who he is, after all. 

But their blindness makes them arrogant, boastful, a greater danger to themselves than any external force. They prod and tease those less like themselves - Peter for not having their forward courage, Lily for being as bookish as a Ravenclaw, Remus for being the enigma of the Tower. They push any combination of buttons to provoke more than what is on the surface, and it is risky, so very risky. He usually takes it with good grace, but there are times when his iron-control, born of necessity, loosens just a fraction. 

Sirius is the worst for it. In the evenings, when there are no Slytherins to divert his attentions, he turns on those he calls friends. James rebounds the insults with his own; Peter smiles indulgently and buries his head in homework. Remus, with the white moon growing fat and heavy in the sky, drifts from his own scrolls into dark thoughts, thoughts that seem to scream at Sirius across the table. And Sirius answers. 

"Whatcha thinking, Remus?" said with the glint of a challenge in his eye. Remus is pulled roughly from his musings by the direct question, and glares warningly. The tension rises between the two of them. Normally they are good friends, but under the light of stars and moon, they are both in their element. 

"It's none of your business," Remus answers, pretending to go back to his work. In the murky depths of his mind he admires the way the shadows play over Sirius' face and in his strange grey eyes; eyes that always laugh in sunshine, but only come alive like this. 

"I want to make it my business," Sirius says as he tugs the parchment away from Remus, inked quill splitting as it leaves a scratched line down the paper. He can feel a growl building low in his chest, threatening to rumble out. He wants nothing more than to rough-tackle him to the ground, a flurry of limbs as they fight and wrestle over a carpet of grass under the smug, knowing moon above. 

He shoots a look of pure venom at Sirius, who only sneers in response. And there, glinting somewhere behind that cheerful façade, Remus sees what he has glimpsed sometimes before: the same dark thoughts that whirl through his head, sinking their claws into Sirius'. It is why he bears much of Sirius' ill humour; Remus knows Sirius hates the darkness that is always with him, and lashes out at the personification of that in Remus. 

Amber eyes look down at the ruined homework, then up at Sirius, who is now leaning back in his chair, eyebrow cocked as if daring Remus to scream every evil thought at him. But Remus can't, as much as he would love to; Sirius has the freedom to vent his anger and his cruelty, but Remus must fight it back, keep it locked away in a box of silver to mutate and manifest. 

Abruptly Remus stands, tasting blood from his lip, the only barrier between the cocky boy with his feet on the table, and all Remus' maliciousness within. There is a battle of wills between them, more deciding than mere words, completely above the heads of all the other Gryffindors in the Common Room. 

"Going somewhere?" Sirius asks innocently, scenting a victory that Remus cannot bear to let him have. He wants to punch the smirk off Sirius' smooth face, not scarred at the ears like Remus'. He clenches his fists so hard his nails puncture the palms. Distractedly he raises one hand, watching as crimson blood trickles over his had, winding tempting trails over his wrist and down his arm. He wants to howl, to growl, to lick his blood, Sirius' blood. 

Tongue wets his lips, the temptation so great, the pull so strong in him. How can he resist? He's just a boy, too young to deal with lust, lust for blood, lust for sex, lust for Sirius looking concerned as he stands to see what's wrong with his sparring partner. "Remus?" stood at his shoulder, watching the blood pump uselessly out of his hands, tingling with dark magic as the wolf binds the wounds shut. "C'mon," Sirius says gruffly, grabbing that bloody hand and tugging Remus up the boys' stairs to their communal bathroom. 

At the first touch of skin, Remus had gone rigid, his only defence against the onslaught of internal demands, seeking blood seeking fire seeking everything Sirius has to give and taking so much more. The water is lukewarm on his skin, rinsing away the sticky remnants of lust and power as slowly, painfully, he is brought out of his red haze and into the room, where Sirius is gently holding his hand under the tap. 

"Sirius," he croaks, causing the other boy to jerk. He feels weak and achy, floating just inside his body where he can distinctly see the weaves of magic strung around his mind by the moon, her touch soft yet burning like silver. The spell breaks with his realisation, and she pulls back beneath the surface, where she resides under the disapproving glare of the sun. 

"Remus," Sirius calls, as if from a great distance. Remus moves in slow motion, feeling no need to hurry the turning of his head, nor to pull his hand from Sirius' clasp. Cool fingers are pressed to his feverish brow, and he revels in them, whimpering when they are taken away. "To bed," Sirius decides. There is no will left in Remus to fight him, and he allows himself to be led into the dorm. 

It's as if he's dreaming as Sirius helps him change into pyjamas, for once no shame at revealing the battered doll that is him, plaything of the moon. He is eased under the covers, left alone while his friend fetches a damp cloth. No fear, no humiliation, this bond of trust between two creatures of night reminds Remus why he bears Sirius' contrariness. They both need the friction in their lives, though Remus wishes he could let loose every taint in him like Sirius tries to. Tries to, but never quite succeeds, no matter how much he pushes Remus while trying to free himself. 

The flannel is blessedly cool on his face, held there by a familiar hand as Sirius slides on to the bed beside him. He moans in relief, turning to the source of this newfound comfort. Sirius accommodates him, whispering soft words in harsh contradiction to their muted war before. "I'm just trying to free myself," Sirius says in a moment of grave clarity. Remus sighs and burrows into Sirius' warmth, even as the damp cloth is pressed to burning cheeks. "I don't mean to make you angry, not really." Sleep beckons to Remus, an attractive escape more welcome than any seduction the moon can envision. 

"Sirius," he sighs, black haze descending on him, silencing his dark thoughts of blood and death. The peace on his face sparks a flame of gentle envy in Sirius' heart, before he curls around Remus and drifts off. 

In the morning when he wakes, someone has respectfully drawn the curtains around them. The fire has left Remus' skin, sucked into the cloth before it was lost on the pillow. Sirius stays on his side, not daring to straighten his pained neck for fear of waking Remus. As he stares, though, his friend goes from sleeping to waking without motion or sound, simply opening his eyes to look at Sirius with the same mild surprise. Sirius brushes a strand of errant hair off Remus' forehead, the touch tender and unthinking. Their hands lay entwined on the covers. 

Beyond the barrier of the curtains, James and Peter tiptoe around the room, opening drawers slowly and speaking in whispers to each other, before heading out to enjoy their Saturday. When Sirius and Remus finally sit up, they don't immediately open the curtains. They have made for themselves a slice of peace, with each other, with themselves, and they are reluctant to relinquish it. 

"Come on," Remus says, pulling back the curtain. The air is cold and fresh on his face, blowing away the last of his mental cobwebs. Sirius grabs his hand before he can stand up, face marred with a worried frown. He gives Sirius a bracing smile, weakly returned. There are no hollow words he can say, no comfort in empty verbal reassurances. Sirius knows the truth as well as he: the darkness never leaves; it is always lurking just beneath the surface. Remus has known it since the day he was reborn, many long years ago. 

"Do you remember what I said?" Sirius asks as they pull on clean clothes. Remus nods carefully; he feels off-balanced, as ever, by the moon beneath the horizon. A momentary thought, fleeting but desirable, passes - he wishes he could share the burden of darkness with someone, with Sirius. His familiar hand rests on Remus' shoulder, steadying him as he struggles with his trousers. They flash quick smiles at each other while heading for the door. In a burst of impulsiveness, Remus grabs Sirius' hand, holding it tightly for a second. Deep in him the wolf stirs, bloodsexdeath, but Remus shoves it away with practiced force. 

"Sirius," he breaths, staring into grey eyes made lighter in the sun, "I'm here." Sirius smiles gratefully, putting his hands in his pockets when Remus releases him. 

"I'll try not to make you angry anymore," he says, before racing out of the door to find James. Remus examines his hand, but finds no marks of the wounds from yesterday. Instead he feels a light tingle in his nerves. Dark thoughts prowl at the back of his mind, but then Sirius yells up the stairs, "Are you coming?" and they are gone like dust in the wind.


End file.
